Malignant Felicity is a paradisaical abode to the faithful remains of a mighty pack. Once ruled by the magnificent wolf Genocide, now the wolves of this pack follow the laws of the Alpha Lance, son of Sorna, Beta and Genocide's best friend...

The sounds of crashing water fill your auds as you enter this tropical paradise. The tall trunks tower above you. The treetop canopy's seem to shade the beautiful land from the sun's rays. What a paradise this place seems. This place dubbed Malignant Felicity. As you draw closer to the boarders a stench slowly devours the air around you. The stench of death.

"Beware..." scream the birds from above you. "She kills for games. She kills for fun." Something deep inside tells you to listen. Your body tells you not to go no further. Do you listen or do you dare move into the pack borders. This could be a life or death decision...

Follow the Queen, or become a corpse that lines her border. The choice lies with you.

Refresh/Reload

and tear me apart
IP: 115.189.191.0
Posted on April 4, 2010 at 07:27:19 AM by Arcadian



He really didn’t know what to expect as to Pendulum’s return, he was sure of one thing, that his return would not be silky smooth. He may have been the closest thing to Queen’s mate, but that did not excuse such behavior. Arcadian did not judge him, as he did not judge any being, bar those who chose to judge him. Tatanka had not been the first, nor would be the last in his lifetime. The ivory steed stretched, his nap had been delightful after comforting Queens so she could merely rest herself. The vixen seemed stressed, far too stressed and Arcadian genuinely worried about his friend. He heard Pendulum’s howl and looked to the sky, seeing the cirrus pass by, his head wavered from side to side a few times then he dropped his head much below the shoulder line, much deeper than this usually proud wolf would carry it, and scented out Queens and her returned dark demon. If anything, his return meant stability, one way or another.

He ivory pelt twisted and ruffled as he loped towards his Queen, his gait strong and bold as he struck out towards the earth and dragged his body through the moist air. He was a picture of beauty, a white hound through a lush green forest, standing out but fitting in, the stench of pure death sticking to him. Although it was unnatural, the blood red stains, fresh and wet the seeped down his front, fitted perfectly, like red velvet on the pope’s white gowns. Pendulum’s call had allowed Arcadian to come and only because Queens was already there, did he so readily make himself available. The newcomer had caused trouble and had paid dearly with her life. A rich sharp tang hit the bloody striped hound’s snout and with one glance he could tell the brute was injured. It was his nature; no glossy coat or large nature could hide this from true predators. He stepped forward, blood dripping off his form which he ignored plainly. A respectful bow was given to the couple, he knew he had little need to, but he was a wolf of formalities, though he did admit he had flaws, every wolf did.

He stepped forward into the royal court, eyes measuring moods and tension, breathing, hormones in the air. Arcadian took in Queen’s features in a glance, his face neutral, if only interested a tiny little bite. He stepped once more and looked to Pendulum, guessing neither had spoken nor made any move towards each other, the very dirt told him of this as his eyes swept over it. All of this processing was over in a mere thirty seconds or less, most of that wondering what to say as to show he didn’t come here for a fight. He did not intend to challenge Pendulum as he was unsure of what he still meant to Queens and though he tried to keep saying it to a minimum to not confuse wolven, he was a naturally peaceful creature. He was not born, like the dark demon before him, into a trained world of rules and regulations, of obedience and followed orders. He was born into a pathetic family and because of it; violence was never his first answer. It would only take a fool’s thinking to believe his was less violent or at some disadvantage because of this, in fact, he belied he had a wider view to life. He had lived the best and worst and had chosen to be the white light at the end of a lot of tunnels. Arcadian had not always been Arcadian, he had been something else, something carefree, something loving and then he had learned what it was to have nothing.
So he began to live with less and less, he began to not have ties and he began to fight and learn, his younger days were tailing demonica, actually studying their ways without being ingested by them. He did learn from them, but most of his teachings came from instinct and self learning, he had no one and nothing to rely on, no family to order or be ordered by. He was, ironically, a loner, yet inside a pack, with brothers, something of an oxymoron. His tones graced the air.

Welcome back, Pendulum.

His voice was not neutral and stern as it usually was, although the smoky, raspy content was always held within his larynx, his tones were honest, carefree, bordering on welcoming even. The crimson painted ivory czar stood silent, and yet out of their court, but still in it, Queens was by far still much closer, as he did not want to intercede on what may have become a private confession of sorts. If he was asked to leave he would go, but it would have to be Queens that asked him so. It was clear he did not trust the brute, which seemed odd if you didn’t think about it. Simply, clearly, he had no reason TO trust him.

Then again, neither did Pendulum.




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